Itsy Bitsy Spider
by Gabi2305
Summary: Trip is afraid of spiders, isn't he?


Itsy Bitsy Spider

Disclaimer: Not making any money.

Big thanks to my friend SitaZ. Without you this story would never have made it to this site.

* * *

**Itsy Bitsy Spider**

"That one's history." Arms crossed in front of his chest, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed indifferently looked down at his victim. "One more potential danger eliminated."

Chief Engineer Trip Tucker felt his cheeks grow warm. "You've gotta admit that it's quite big."

"Indeed." Malcolm's eyebrow twitched as he glanced down at the dark spot on the ground. "It might have made a quick meal out of you if I hadn't stopped it."

Trip looked away. His face was glowing.

Finally, Malcolm took mercy on him, giving Trip's shoulder a comforting pat. "Don't worry about it. Everybody's got some sort of secret fear, and yours just happens to be spiders. So I suppose it's no surprise that you'd start screaming if some sort of..." he eyed the hairy something his boot had trodden into the ground, "five-centimeter-long alien insect appears out of nowhere."

"Yeah yeah, go ahead and make fun of me," Trip grumbled, deliberately turning away to gather up his scattered dinner, which he'd sent flying when he'd jumped up. Malcolm gave him a sideways glance, obviously hard-pressed to hide a smile. Then he sat down again, picking up his own ration tray.

"One thing I don't understand, though. You're always the first one in line for any away mission that involves camping. You've got to have had more of these daunting encounters in the past."

Trip scowled at him.

"Actually," Malcolm continued, "Travis gave me a rather detailed account of your little dance when that alien scorpion found its way into your sleeping bag. Remember, it was on your very first away mission on that peaceful planet, which later turned out to be..."

"Yeah, I remember," Trip interrupted him, while he was picking through his meat loaf for any bits that were still edible.

Malcolm tilted his head, looking at him. "Come on, Trip. What's up? You're not usually that easily scared. You don't seem to mind Klingons, Suliban, warp core breaches, and even T'Pol. Why do you panic at the sight of a spider?"

"I didn't panic."

"No, of course not. I suppose you scattered your dinner all over the place just for the fun of it."

"I shoulda taken Hoshi along," Trip muttered under his breath.

"Yes, I can see her cutting down the tree. The perfect job for her. Maybe she could talk it into falling down. Our phase pistols don't seem to be much use, do they?"

"Better than tryin' the axes. What's the hurry 'bout the tree, anyway? Christmas is still two weeks away."

Malcolm raised his eyebrows. "We probably won't come across another planet with plant life in the next two weeks."

Trip raised his head and peered into the forest the edge of which they'd chosen as their rest stop. "And from the way things look, the trees on this planet are immune to every attempt to chop them down. And besides, that's not exactly what I'd call a Christmas tree."

Malcolm followed his gaze, shrugging. "What did you expect? We can't exactly be choosy. And even if our Christmas tree has a pink trunk and bright yellow triangular leaves instead of green needles, I don't think it'll make much of a difference. At least the shape's all right. Hoshi will think of some way to decorate it properly, I'm sure."

"If we can ever find a way to cut it down. I've never seen trees with a bark like that. We shoulda been back hours ago, but we hardly made a scratch in that damn tree trunk, and my hands are blistered all over."

"From handling a phase pistol? First a spider, and now a tree. Not slipping in our standards, are we, Commander?" Malcolm was trying and failing to hide his grin, but he sobered quickly when he became aware of his friend's dark expression.

"Are you going to tell me about it?"

"What d'you mean?"

"Are you going to tell me why tough-as-nails Tucker is afraid of spiders?"

"I'm not afraid of spiders," Trip insisted, but his voice faded as his thoughts drew him into the past.

* * *

"You're a little shit, you know that?"

"I ain't!"

"You are, too. I did all of your work today."

"Not my fault I hurt my hand." Trip looked down at the large band aid that covered the cut on his hand. If he was being honest, it _was_ his fault for losing his balance and falling down. Superman would have slid down the banisters like water down a tap, and without injuring his hand in the process. Defiantly, he glanced up at Andy. It was no surprise that his older brother was mad at him. They'd known for days that they were going to be stacking the firewood today; their parents had been talking about nothing else. It was hard work, lugging the wood his father had cut into the old shed and stacking it into large piles, where it would be left to dry until the cold season. Trip had to admit that the fireplace made for a cozy atmosphere, and in winter, he loved to come in and snuggle into a blanket in front of the crackling fire, sipping the hot chocolate his mom had made for him. But until then, there was still a lot of work to do, and while Trip usually liked yardwork, he wasn't sorry that he'd missed out today. Today he'd found the new computer game in the mail, and the prospect of spending the day at his console had been a lot more tempting than stacking firewood in the shed. Andy knew, of course, that his hand hadn't hurt as much as he'd pretended, and that Trip had simply found a way to shirk his share of the work.

"Anyway, I'm still too little to help," Trip tried to defend himself. "I can't even reach the piles."

"You're almost ten," Andy said disdainfully. "And you managed jus' fine last year. And besides, you're the one who's always pretendin' to be Superman!"

Ouch, so he'd found out about that, too. Trip decided that it would be best to drop the subject at this point, and snuggled into his pillows. "Leave me alone, I'm goin' to sleep."

"Well, then you're never gonna know what we found in the shed today."

Trip wasn't going to be fooled that easily. "You didn't find anything," he muttered.

"How d'you know? When was the last time you went into the shed?"

"Dunno. A few weeks ago when we were playin' hide an' seek."

"See?"

Reluctantly, Trip sat up again. His curiosity had been piqued. What if Andy had really found something in there? "So, what is it?"

Andy shook his head. "I've gotta show you, or it won't be the same."

"If you think I'm gonna go into that old shed in the middle of the night..."

"Aw, Trip, you're such a baby. It's almost midnight, you know? You afraid of ghosts?"

"I ain't!"

"Sure you are! And you think you're Superman. You're a baby, a stupid little crybaby!"

"I'm not a baby!" Trip jumped out of bed, ready to go for Andy, but his brother easily evaded his fists.

"Then prove it. Come on, let's go. We'll be back in ten minutes at the most." Andy gave him a nasty grin. "Before the witchin' hour starts."

Trip was fuming. He hated it when Andy treated him like a stupid little kid. His brother was only two years older, after all. The prospect of going outside at this hour wasn't appealing at all, but he didn't really have a choice if he wanted to prove to his brother that he wasn't a crybaby. Scowling, he got up and looked down at himself. He couldn't go outside like this. He'd been refusing to put on PJs for almost half a year now; super heroes didn't wear pajamas, after all, did they? Though mom had insisted that he keep on his boxer shorts. "Or I'll be changing the sheets every day before long," she'd said. Trip hadn't really understood what she was talking about, but knew that it was better to do as he'd been told.

He pulled on his t-shirt, and was searching through the pile of clothes for his jeans, when Andy groaned.

"How 'bout getting a survival pack ready while you're at it? I told you we'll be back in ten minutes."

Well, the shorts would have to do. It was warm enough outside.

XXXXXX

Padding barefoot across the lawn, Trip followed Andy to the shed. It had been a summer house once, but they'd hardly ever used it. After his dad had installed the fireplace his mom had wanted for so long (in the warm Florida weather, the crackling fire was more for mood than anything else) the house had been converted into a storage place for firewood. When Andy pointed his flashlight into the room, Trip noticed the piles of wood that had been stacked right up to the ceiling. For a moment, he felt slightly guilty thinking of his family working while he played computer games, but was quickly distracted again when Andy motioned at a corner at the far end of the room.

"Over here, Trip. You have to crawl under here and look behind the wood, then you'll see it."

Trip did as he'd been told, but he couldn't see a thing. Maybe the fact that Andy had switched off the flashlight had something to do with it.

"Andy, turn the light back on. I can't see anything."

When there was no answer, Trip raised his head, confused. "Andy? Andy, where are you?"

The door slammed shut, and Trip heard a click as the bolt was pushed into place.

"Andy!" He clambered to his feet, stubbed his toes on a piece of wood and almost fell face forward on the floor as he stumbled over to the door. "Andy, are you crazy? What're you doin'? Let me outta here."

"You're gonna spend some time in that shed jus' like the rest of us," he heard Andy's voice on the other side of the door. "Maybe next year you'll do your share of the work. Have fun with the ghosts. It's ten to midnight. Try not to scream too loud when they come to get you. But then, I don't think anyone'll hear you out here. I'll see you tomorrow, bro, or not."

Trip heard Andy starting to walk away, whistling cheerfully.

"No," he called, pounding the door with his fists. "Don't leave me here, Andy. Please!"

There was a scratching sound somewhere on the floor. Trip winced and flattened himself against the wall. The rough wooden boards pressed painfully into his back, but Trip found the feeling of sturdy wall comforting, in a way. No, he wasn't afraid. It was only the old shed. Dirty, dusty, and home to a thousand bugs, but not dangerous. But everything looked different in the dark, didn't it? Trip's vivid imagination was already beginning to play tricks on him. In every gloomy corner he saw sinister shadows, biding their time to come out and grab him. The shed no longer had a window, after Andy and he had kicked a soccerball through it, the summer before last, and his dad had decided to board it up. Pale moonlight shone in through the cracks between the boards, but it was hardly enough for Trip to make out anything but dark shapes.

He was beginning to tremble. It was cold in here, a lot colder than he would have expected, coming in out of the mild summer night. Pull yourself together, he chided himself. You can handle spending one night in the shed. There's no such thing as ghosts. Nothing's gonna happen to you. Superman wouldn't be afraid, either.

It was the silence that was getting to him. It was great to come in here during the day, when he could hear normal, everyday sounds in the distance: Lizzy giggling, his mother's voice while she did her daily chores, Andy getting up to some sort of shit... then, Trip didn't mind sneaking into the dark shed for a minute or two and enjoying the creepy feeling of place, well aware that he could always return to bright daylight just by opening the door. But now the door was locked, he was trapped, and all of a sudden the game was no longer fun.

Things were whispering somewhere over his head, scraping across the floor close to his bare feet. Cautiously, Trip walked a few steps, wood shavings and dirt tickling the soles of his feet. He had to be careful not to get a splinter with all that stuff lying around on the floor. Trip swallowed. Slowly, his courage was beginning to seep away, despite of what he'd told himself only a few minutes ago. Shadows were slithering across the floor. The ghosts. They were coming to get him. Something was lurking in the corner over there, waiting to come at him. The wooden beams over his head creaked, and Trip jumped a mile high. His throat felt very tight all of a sudden, and the only sound that came out was a dry sob. So ghosts were real, after all. Or maybe it was the zombies from that horror film he and Andy had secretly watched a few weeks ago. When his brother would come to let him out tomorrow morning, he'd no longer be here. Or maybe he would be, sprawled dead on the floor. For a moment, Trip tried to imagine how Andy would react, and found himself looking forward to the expression on his brother's face. Then he remembered that, being dead, he was never going to see it.

Something rustled somewhere close, and Trip felt the small hairs on his arms and on the nape of his neck stand on end. A cold shiver ran down his spine. All his brave intentions crumbled away as he squatted down in a corner, wishing fervently that someone would come and open the door to his prison.

Suddenly, something brushed against him, touching him. "No!" Trip yelled. "Help me!" But he knew that no one would hear him. The family's bedrooms were on the other side of the house. He was all alone in here, alone and abandoned, and it was only a matter of minutes until the ghosts would come and get him.

Something dropped onto his arm and started to crawl over his skin. Instinctively, Trip reached for it and felt a small, hairy body touching his palm. With a startled cry, he wiped it off. He had never been afraid of bugs or insects, and on more than one occasion, he'd dangled an earthworm in front of Lizzy's face, laughing at her girly squeaks. Now, he was the one who was scared. He felt his heart pound against his ribs, loud enough so that the sound was ringing in his ears.

In the meantime, his eyes had gotten used to the dark, and Trip was able to make out the outlines of his surroundings. There was the large stack against one wall, the forgotten piece of wood on the floor, reminding him that his great toe was still sore from when he'd stubbed it, and a few garden tools on the other side of the room. And then he saw them. They were sitting in the corner, crawling all over the floor, gathering over his head, all of them preparing for an attack... spiders, woodlice, earthworms, earwigs. In the middle of the night, here in this dark, cold shed, they seemed strangely enlargened, like an army about to come for him. Trip shuddered.

Something landed in his hair. Shrieking, Trip jumped to his feet and beat at his head until a hairy spider fell to his feet. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he shook with disgust. Looking up, he saw a huge spider web directly above his head, and inside it several flies that had died a slow death tangled in the sticky threads, and were now waiting to be devoured. One of them was still struggling desperately, unable to free itself. Trip swallowed. He knew the feeling. Sniffing, he looked for a better place to stay and pressed himself against the stack of firewood. The floor was filthy, disgusting. And he was cold, too. If only he'd put on his pajamas. Rubbing his legs against each other in an attempt to warm them, he felt something being squashed between them. Numb with terror, he paused, then spread his legs and saw the remains of a daddy longlegs drop to the floor. Some of long spider legs stuck to the insides of his thighs, and he had to quell the urge to vomit as he carefully picked them off. He shuddered with disgust and flattened himself against the stack of wood again, despair filling him as he thought of the long night ahead. Superman was dead, and all that was left was a little nine-year-old boy who was scared of insects, terrified of ghosts and desperately trying to survive.

XXXXXX

Trip didn't know how much time had passed when his eyes were slowly beginning to drift closed. His heart was still thumping in his chest, but he had managed to convince himself that nothing was going to happen to him. He was still freezing, he was longing for his warm, comfortable bed, and he felt dirty, but the ghosts seemed to have decided to leave him alone for tonight.

Suddenly, he saw them. Two giant spiders, each twice as large as his hand, were crawling right at him. Trip tried to press himself even harder against the stack of wood, but some of the pieces painfully poked him in the back, hindering any further escape. Stiff with fear, he stared at the two spiders, which were beginning to weave a large web between his legs. They were crawling further up, wrapping their thin threads around his knees, his hips, across his stomach, chest and arms. At an incredible speed, they were enveloping him in strange sort of cocoon. From above, a third spider was lowering itself onto his head, beginning to weave a web in his hair. Trip tried to scream, but one of the spiders slipped into his mouth and choked the sound.

With a cry, Trip jerked awake and began to retch. No spider came out of his mouth, though. He wanted to wipe off the giant web, but it wasn't there. Hands trembling with fear, his face gleaming with sweat, Trip leaned back. It had been a dream. Only a dream. But the dream had been realistic enough to leave the furry taste of the spider lingering on his tongue. Disgusted, he spat, startling a woodlouse that quickly disappeared under the stack of firewood. Trip began to sob. He couldn't shake off his nightmare, here in the dark. Every rustle, every creak made him jump with terror. If he curled up in a small ball and didn't move at all, they might not be able to see him. Trip balled himself up on the floor and lay perfectly still. When he felt a spider tickle across his bare leg, he held his breath, but the tiny animal seemed to have no intention of spinning a web around him.

"Please, get me outta here," Trip whispered, hot tears dripping onto the dusty floor. "Please, Mom, Dad, why aren't you comin' to get me out?" But no one could hear his quiet sobs. He was all alone.

* * *

"I'll say," Malcolm commented, after Trip had ended his narrative. "That's not something you'd forget overnight. I'm not surprised you're arachnophobic."

"I'm not," Trip replied calmly. "I don't normally freak out when I see a spider. It's just that sometimes, in some situations, they remind me of that night and for a very short moment, I panic like I did after that horrible dream. It's really just a moment, but most of the time it's enough to make me overreact a little."

"I can imagine," Malcolm muttered, giving a small shudder. "That nightmare would be enough to give anyone the creeps."

He regarded Trip thoughtfully. "I always assumed you and your brother were quite close."

"We are. And I understand what made him do it. He was just mad and wanted to teach me a little lesson."

"A little lesson? Locking a young child into a dark shed full of vermin for an entire night isn't exactly what I would call a little lesson."

Trip ran a hand over his face. "He hadn't been plannin' to leave me there for a whole night. He'd intended to let me out after half an hour. He sat down to watch some TV in the meantime, and fell asleep at some point."

"So you did have to stay in there for a whole night?"

Trip shook his head. "I'd still be sittin' in the padded cell then. It was Lizzy who saved me. She went into the kitchen to get herself a glass of milk, and saw that the lights were on in the living room. That was how she found Andy."

"And then?"

"She woke him up and told him how mom and dad were gonna kill him if they knew he was watchin' TV in the middle of the night. She told me that Andy just stared at her, then looked at his watch and began to swear a blue streak. After that, he was up and gone like a dog with his tail on fire. Lizzy went straight to our parents' bedroom, a'course, to tell them what had happened."

"And your parents went to check what your brother was up to."

"You bet. They found him tryin' to pull a whimperin', terrified little kid outta the shed. Wasn't exactly Superman's greatest moment."

* * *

Trip heard something scratching on the door. If the ghosts were coming, after all, he'd at least be rid of the spiders. He imagined that he could feel them crawling along his body, slipping under his t-shirt and spinning their threads in his hair. He had to be covered all over with cobwebs. Trip could no longer discern what was reality and what was his imagination, and in his mind's eye saw himself buried under a giant pile of bugs. He hardly dared to breathe; his limbs were cold and he was numb with fear, inside and outside. Squeezing his eyes shut, he sobbed quietly.

Suddenly, something grabbed his arm. Trip's heart missed a beat. This was it. This was when the zombies came to make him one of their own. They started to talk, but he clamped his hands over his ears so he wouldn't have to listen. They tried to pull his hands away from his head, but Trip wouldn't let them.

"What's goin' on?" he suddenly heard a stern, but very familiar voice. "Andy, what are you doin'?"

Trip recognized the voice. It was his dad. His dad had come. The zombies weren't going to get him, nor would the spiders trap him in their oversized web. Again, a sob escaped him, but this time he was crying with relief.

"Trip?" His father sounded bemused. "What are you doin' in the shed?" And then, his voice raised: "What the hell is goin' on here?"

Trip felt himself being picked up. He was still trembling, but his fear quickly dissipated as he snuggled into his father's arms, listening to his mother's voice as she questioned Andy on the way back.

He was taken into the house, given a hot shower and wrapped into a warm blanket. Afterwards, his mother sat next to him on the couch, holding him close and whispering comforting words in his ear, while Andy hesitantly gave an account of what had happened.

"What the hell were you thinkin'?" his father interrupted angrily. "That shed with all the bugs is enough to scare a grown man. And Trip's only nine."

"He's always pretendin' to be Superman," Andy sulked.

"You went through that phase, too, and not that long ago either," his father brushed the argument aside.

Trip's mother raised her head. "I thought I knew you, Andy," she said, with an undertone of disappointment. "But lockin' your little brother into the shed, for hours..."

"I was only gonna leave him there for a few minutes," Andy defended himself. "It's not my fault I fell asleep."

"No, but it's your fault that you locked him up in the first place. Thank God Lizzy found you and woke you up. Y'know, right now I've got a mind to spank you into the middle of next week!"

Trip moved under his blanket. That, he wanted to see. He knew his father would never hit Andy, but the fact alone that he'd threatened to do so showed how angry he was.

His father glanced at him. "I'd say we're all goin' back to bed now," he decided. "We'll talk about all of this tomorrow." A smile crossed his face. "What d'you say, Trip, you wanna sleep in our bed for the rest of the night?"

Trip hesitated, but only briefly. Of course he was far too old to be sleeping in his parents' bed, but even Superman needed a little comfort now and then. And he found he simply didn't care that Andy was going to tease him about it. In the weeks to come, Andy was going to have a hard enough time as it was.

* * *

"How long were you locked into the shed?" Malcolm asked.

"Bout two hours. Believe me, it felt like forever to me."

Malcolm shuddered. "Did you ever go in there again?"

"Into the shed, you mean? Yes, I went in there the next day, together with my dad. It was crazy, how different it all looked in broad daylight. Not scary at all. I could even laugh about the spiders on the floor. There weren't even all that many, and certainly not the army I'd imagined."

"Darkness can influence one's perception of reality in strange ways."

"Yeah, and leave a permanent mark on the subconscious," Trip sighed.

"What happened to your brother?"

"Andy was grounded for two weeks. I thought he was gonna take it out on me, but he was really nice to me, in fact. I guess he realized that he'd gone too far this time." Trip grinned. "But I got my own back."

Malcolm raised his eyebrows. "What did you do?"

"Lizzy had this big black rubber spider. Looked almost real. I borrowed it one night and put it on Andy's face when he was sleepin'. He didn't notice at first, but then one of the legs musta slipped into his mouth." Trip folded his hands behind his head, looking into the dark sky with an almost philosophical expression. "He shrieked somethin' awful, woke everyone in the house. I thought I was gonna get in trouble this time, but my dad just grinned. And Andy was nearly dyin' because everybody knew that he'd freaked over a rubber spider."

"And I suppose he got his own back as well?"

"Naw. The next day, he came and shook my hand, said we were even now."

"That sounds fair."

"Yeah, Andy's always been fair. It was his exaggerated idea of fairness that got me into the whole fix in the first place. He thought it was fair payback to lock me into the shed." Trip grimaced. "But I think we should get back to work. We gotta find a way to cut that tree down."

"We should try the phase pistols again. Maybe the strongest setting will do the trick."

"We might also blow it up. Might improve the look of those weird leaves, too."

"I don't think that's the object of the exercise."

"Come on, Malcolm. A pink tree with yellow triangular leaves? Can't see anyone gettin' into the Christmas spirit with that kinda thing sittin' in the corner."

"We could paint the leaves green."

"I can see it now – Paintin' Christmas Trees 101 with Hoshi Sato. She'd love that."

"Now stop grumbling, Trip, and come on. We'll find a way to deal with that blasted tree. Oh look, there's a spider over there. I'd better get my phase pistol to rescue you."

Trip sighed. "Whatever possessed me to tell you I don't know."

Malcolm paused and smiled at him. "I'm glad you did. And believe me, I'd never think any less of you, or your courage." He grinned. "Although I should expand my job description. "Protecting the crew from hostile alien species, and Commander Tucker from spiders."

"But only if they're more than a meter in diameter."

"Deal." Malcolm handed Trip a phase pistol. "Now let's cut that Christmas tree down, before the Captain sends T'Pol to look for us."

"She could always try logic on it," Trip muttered, checking the settings on his pistol. "The tree might even surrender peacefully." He looked at Malcolm, who was already working on the tree, and had apparently managed to make a small incision into its bark. Trip exhaled, took a great step over the spider that was still sitting in front of his feet, and joined Malcolm in their attempts to chop down a brightly yellow Christmas tree, complete with a painfully pink trunk.

The End

* * *

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